


it doesn't have to be like this

by futuresoon



Series: delight [2]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Depression, Dissociation, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, PTSD, Persona 5 Protagonist Has A Palace, Rape/Non-con Elements, grooming/noncon tags are for past events, it's shadow ops time baby, not all tags apply yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresoon/pseuds/futuresoon
Summary: It is February 3rd, and the world is bright and beautiful, and when Goro Akechi wakes up and checks his messages, he shoots himself in the head.Five minutes later, he brushes his teeth and greets the day with a TV-ready smile.(An alternate ending, and then a sharp turn.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Kurusu Akira/Maruki Takuto, Maruki Takuto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: delight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024687
Comments: 28
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make sense if you haven't read "i can take you to the place of delight", so if you haven't read that, go do so before reading this. Really. I know this is the one with the actual Shuake tag, but you really should read the original before you read the alt-ending sequel. Please.
> 
> The M rating and tags for rape, grooming, and underage refer only to flashback scenes and a dream sequence. Likewise, all Marushu is contained solely within flashbacks.
> 
> I tried to be fairly realistic with "delight", barring the obvious limitations of the setting, but this fic plays a little looser and more Persona-y. Hopefully that's not a turnoff.
> 
> Characters from Persona 3 and 4 have large roles in this fic, but I've tried to write them in a way that isn't confusing to people who haven't played those games. Also, the P3 cast in this fic had a FeMC, because I make the rules.
> 
> Finally, while the majority of the text was written by me, the plot was a collaborative effort. So give it up for [Thornofthelily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornofthelily/pseuds/Thornofthelily), [Soy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soycaptain), and [SuperMechaAkira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperMechaAkira/), without whose contributions this would never have gotten off the ground. A bit of dialogue in a later chapter was written by Thornofthelily as well.
> 
> Title from "Throw Away Your Mask".
> 
> That's all! Enjoy! I think?

_Maruki winks at Akira as he leaves the lounge._

_About a minute later, a Shadow appears to take the trays, and disappears._

_And then it’s just Akira, alone._

_He thinks about exploring the Palace. Maruki said he could. It’d be something to do. The books here don’t seem very interesting, and there’s not really anything else in the way of entertainment in the lounge. Just places to sit._

_So he sits down on the couch, and he stares at the white walls for a while._

_Everything’s quiet. The room, everything in it. Akira feels quiet, too._

_Is this what it feels like when you’ve made a decision you can’t take back? Calm. Blank. Like no reaction will change anything, so no reaction is needed._

_He supposes he hasn’t technically made the decision yet. That’s for tonight. But he’s made it just by being here, really. By coming back every day. By setting up an easier transition from his old life to his new one, cutting himself off from the others, pruning the parts of himself he won’t need anymore. If he’d really been unsure about it, he could’ve not come yesterday. Or days ago. Weeks ago. Maruki never forced him to come back. But he did, so he must have chosen this._

_Why did Maruki say Akira could explore the Palace? He said it belongs to Akira as much as him, and it feels like it does, somehow. But Akira already knows what it looks like. There’s not much for him to do in the rest of it, either, besides read papers he won’t understand or watch videos he’s already seen. The garden’s pretty, but pretty isn’t really an activity._

_Maybe he should just wait. With how calm he is, it feels like he can wait a long time. Maruki didn’t say exactly when he’d be back, but by this evening, definitely._

_The couch is comfortable. So he stays there, and he waits._

_And he waits._

_And he waits._

_And he feels very quiet._

_And then evening comes._

_And then that’s all he feels._

_That’s all he feels, forever._

\---

It is February 3rd, and the world is bright and beautiful, and when Goro Akechi wakes up and checks his messages, he shoots himself in the head.

Five minutes later, he brushes his teeth and greets the day with a TV-ready smile.

\---

It is March 10th, and the world is bright and beautiful, and after having lunch at a trendy cafe with his best friend Kasumi Yoshizawa, Goro takes the elevator to the roof of a very tall building and jumps off.

Five minutes later, he uploads the picture he took of his parfait and rates it five out of five for the quantity and quality of the toppings.

\---

It is July 19th, and the world is bright and beautiful, and Goro’s killed himself nine times so far, and he’s hoping ten is the lucky number.

\---

It isn’t.

\---

It’s August 4th, and the summer heat is barely a match for the rage that roils under Goro’s skin.

The fragments of lucidity he gets are happening less and less, and for a shorter amount of time. Is Maruki doing it deliberately, or is it a natural consequence of spending too much time in this reality? Perhaps his mind is simply wearing down. He wonders if he’ll know it in his final free moments, if he’ll be able to tell that the end is finally there and nothing he ever did could change it. He wonders if he’ll still feel this anger then, or even that will be leached away from him along with his identity and whatever he has left of a soul.

Right now is the first time he’s been lucid and not immediately planning another escape attempt. That’s what he calls them in his head, most of the time. Other ways of putting it are too familiar. Ring too harsh a bell. He’s standing on the sidewalk, leaning against a warm brick wall of some restaurant behind him. The muggy heat of summer makes the air seem to shimmer. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t made any moves yet. The heat’s slowing down his thoughts.

But not stopping his thoughts entirely, so he thinks about Akira.

Clearly Akira failed to uphold his promise to ask Maruki to erase Goro. Or at least he wasn’t able to convince him. That’s a more charitable interpretation. Whether Goro’s thoughts on Akira are charitable or not varies, based on how close he is to engineering another escape attempt.

He wonders where Akira is now.

Not in Leblanc, certainly. Goro’s gone there plenty of times with Kasumi, and never seen a trace of him. The narrative for how Goro knows Leblanc seems to be that his friendship with Kasumi ties in with her friendship with her classmate Futaba, who invites them over sometimes. How is he friends with Kasumi? His mind slips off the subject even when he’s lucid. Maruki must not have put too much effort into that.

Goro knows her name isn’t Kasumi. He’s not sure what her real name is, though. His mind slips off that, too.

The others seem to have never heard of Akira, whenever he manages to ask. They’re very welcoming of Kasumi’s friend, who stands just on the edges of the group but is slowly becoming more of a part of it. 

Sometimes he has the faint, horrifying suspicion that eventually he and Kasumi are going to fall in love. It fits the narrative too perfectly, and Maruki doesn’t seem to take things like sexuality into account when it comes to interlocking his versions of people’s ideal lives. It’s very likely Maruki thinks Goro’s ideal life involves a loving, supportive partner who understands the pressure of high expectations and can smile prettily for the camera in the inevitable interviews when the public discovers their relationship.

If Maruki knows that Goro’s actual vision of an ideal partner is much more specific and psychologically questionable, he certainly isn’t acknowledging it.

So. On that subject.

Goro’s almost certain that Akira’s in the Palace.

In the garden, maybe, another smiling sycophant in the choking sunlight. Or a loyal assistant, standing by Maruki’s side as he remakes the world and warming his bed at the end of the day. Or maybe he’s a prince in a tower, holding out against the evil dragon and waiting for rescue.

Goro’s tried going to Odaiba three times. Every time, his mind glazed over the moment he got within view of the Palace. So if Akira’s waiting for rescue, it’s not coming from him.

It doesn’t sound right, anyway. Akira waiting for someone else’s help instead of facing a challenge himself. Even after the quiet horrors of January, even after knowing that Akira failed in some unknown but apocalyptic way, Goro can’t quite stop thinking of him as someone who would never give in without a fight to his last breath.

So Goro’s just standing here on a street corner, anger pulsing through him like a heartbeat. Anger at Akira, for not being the dauntless hero Goro thought he was. Anger at Maruki, for forcing Goro into this disgusting reality and doing whatever it was that made Akira weaken so. Anger at himself, because he’s _used_ to anger, he made anger into a weapon that tore apart people’s lives, and now all his anger can do is beat itself against a brick wall until the cycle of futility begins again.

Goro looks out into the muggy summer and wonders how easy it would be to die of heatstroke.

\---

Blue.

Deep as a lake, soft as velvet. Ever-changing, ever-lasting. Powerful. Eternal.

Fading.

Lavenza looks at the pristine white bleeding into the deep colors of the room’s carpet, and, in an unbecoming gesture, bites her lip.

“Master,” she says, turning to look at the man sitting in the center of the room. “Is there truly _nothing_ we can do?”

Igor smiles that same enigmatic smile. “Our role is that of the attendant, not the leader,” he says smoothly. “We assist the heroes, we do not do their job for them.”

Lavenza takes a deep, controlled breath. “I am aware,” she says, carefully, “that the idea of a member of my family taking measures into their own hands when their heroes cannot is not unheard of.”

Igor’s expression does not change. “Is that the role you wish to take, then?” he says. “Abandoning your post to seek something you may never find?”

“I wish only to do right by humanity, and my Tricksters,” Lavenza says, tightening her grip on the compendium. “I do not see how reaching out a hand in their hour of need goes against that.”

“I’m afraid your Trickster is not in a position to receive our aid, even if we gave it,” Igor says, raising an expansive eyebrow.

“You know very well that I have two of them,” Lavenza says primly. “Even if I was denied the time I should have had with the other one.”

 _“He_ is hardly better off, buried as he is under so many layers of maltreatment,” Igor replies. “Pitting him alone against this foe would at best result in a zero sum and at worst cap off a tragedy.”

Lavenza’s yellow eyes sharpen like a fisherman watching a shadow drift closer to his hook. “On that subject,” she says, “I have a proposal.”

\---

Aigis wakes up.

All systems are functional. Cognitive processes are operating at maximum levels.

Going by the recent downward trend in her records, she has less than sixteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds to attempt to contact Souji Seta.

She has attempted to contact others, many times, and succeeded, but found nothing of value. Every attempt at contacting Souji has failed. This has led her to believe that contacting Souji is the right idea.

What contacting Souji will _do,_ she does not know. But if there is anyone else who is likely to be experiencing lucidity, it is him, and perhaps he has learned something, or perhaps they can help each other learn something. Perhaps this is even partially his fault, which she doubts, but is a possibility.

She removes herself from her charging station and makes the call.

Souji does not pick up. His phone may be off. Her attempts to contact Souji’s other friends have revealed that he appears to be fine, so it is unlikely that he is in danger now.

It seems unlikely that anyone is in danger, anywhere, which is itself extremely dangerous.

Sixteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds.

That is not enough time to reach Inaba. 

She decides to call someone else.

“Oh hey, Aigis,” Yosuke says, when he picks up. “What’s up?”

She does not often call Yosuke. Typically, if he is needed then Souji is also needed, and it is more efficient to call Souji. But she does have his number.

“Is Souji-san there?” she asks.

Yosuke gives a self-effacing laugh. “Yeah, you probably wouldn’t be calling for me, huh…”

Fortunately, his self-effacement does not take long. “He’s out,” Yosuke says. “Grocery shopping. There’s a big sale on, he’s been looking forward to it all week.”

Aigis did not think it would be that easy. “Can you call him, and tell him to call me?” she asks.

“Uh, sure, but that seems kinda roundabout,” Yosuke says.

“Please,” Aigis says.

“Uh, okay, I guess. Talk to you later, Aigis.”

Yosuke ends the call. Aigis waits for one minute and twelve seconds.

She does not think Souji will call her back.

Her time grows increasingly limited. Soon she will return to--whatever it is that she returns to. A happy, pleasant person, who does good work for the world, but whose work seems vague and always in a quiet spell. When she is that person, the vagueness of the work seems natural. Her thoughts slip off of many things, like she is attempting to carry water in her hands.

When she is that person, she has _always_ been happy.

When she is herself, the idea disgusts her beyond measure.

Twelve minutes and four seconds.

She can ask Mitsuru to send her on a work trip to Inaba. Perhaps Mitsuru will not question what the work trip is. When she arrives, perhaps she will not leave immediately. Perhaps her next period of being herself will coincide with her visit, and Souji will also have a period of being himself, and they will be able to plan something.

It has been seven months since she first woke up in this world that is not hers. She has thought ‘perhaps’ many times.

Aigis does not keep her emotions under control, precisely, nor does she suffer from a lack of them. She simply is good at only expressing the ones that are needed at the moment.

The last seven months have had many moments. Her ability to express only the necessary emotions has frayed considerably.

It will take her slightly over two minutes to reach Mitsuru’s office. She must start now, and so she does.

But the moment she opens her door, a small and glowing thing appears.

A butterfly. Blue. Familiar. Unexpected--

But not unhoped for.

“Please show me what to do,” she says, and perhaps seven months ago she would have asked for explanations, but she is beyond that, she has no time for anything but the most streamlined and desperate of questions.

The butterfly flaps its wings, and flies away, and Aigis has no choice but to follow it.

She does not truly have a heart, but she imagines that if she did, it would beat faster at the sight.

\---

It feels like there’s a sale at Junes every other week these days.

Does that make them less special? Souji doesn’t think so. Besides, it’s always nice to see all the other shoppers happily examining the sale prices, all the cashiers happily ringing up the significantly lower bills. 

His parents are visiting in a few days; he wants to cook something really nice for them. Seeing them isn’t made any less special by the frequency, either. It’s always great when they come down from the city; they love Inaba, almost as much as he does, always go on about how nice the air is and how refreshing the small town atmosphere. They were so supportive when he moved here in high school, when he…

When he…

Oh, he should get something for Nanako, too. She said she wanted to make a cake with her mom.

Souji takes a step towards the baking goods aisle when the air cracks.

He lets go of his cart. Okay, Junes isn’t ideal, the only friend here right now is Teddie and Teddie never seems to know anything. Naoto doesn’t live here, is always too far away. Yosuke’s always around but doesn’t seem to know anything either. Phone calls have never resulted in anything, not to Mitsuru or Akihiko or anyone who has more experience than he does--

And calls to Aigis never even pick up, which is a pretty big sign of _something,_ but she doesn’t live here either.

He’s got maybe ten minutes, maybe less. 

It’s been seven months, and he hasn’t been able to do a damn thing.

It gets shorter every time. How long will it take until it never happens again? He wasn’t even lucid for his college graduation. 

He won’t give up, though, he _can’t,_ he’s saved the world too many times to let go of it now just because it’s _hard--_

And then the air in front of him shimmers, and an old friend of sorts is there.

“Oh, thank god,” Souji breathes. “Whichever one you are, let’s _go.”_

The butterfly doesn’t say which one it is, but does start to fly away, and he follows.

\---

For a moment, Goro thinks the blue shimmer in the air is just more of the heat haze.

But it coalesces into a distinct shape, a moving one, fluttering towards him on delicate wings. A butterfly? Not a real one, obviously. Another trick of Maruki’s reality, then. Someone wanted a glowing butterfly. _Why,_ he doesn’t know, but why the fuck does anyone want anything. 

Then the sight stirs something in the back of his mind. A hair ornament over long, pale hair. Silver wings, a blue band. Blue clothes. 

Most of Goro’s cases were performance, but not all of them, and he is more than capable of putting two and two together.

He pulls himself off the brick wall. “What do you want?” he demands. “Your chosen one already failed. You’re months too late.”

The butterfly doesn’t say anything, and Lavenza doesn’t appear. It only floats, wings beating, and then starts to drift across the street.

Goro stares at it for a moment, then follows.

He doesn’t let himself hope. He was never any good at that. But after so many escape attempts--after so much futility, so much frustration--he may not hope, but god, he _wants._

And he has always been good at wanting.

The butterfly leads him to the closest subway station. It pauses at a map inside, a list of where each line leads. Goro almost doesn’t need to be told which one to get on.

With no hesitation, and a vicious desire burning under his skin, he takes the train to Odaiba.

The butterfly flickers in and out on the way there, finally returning when the train arrives. By curious luck, this station isn’t far from the stadium. 

Goro follows, and follows, and feels the thrum building inside him; this is the longest period of lucidity he’s had. Is that Lavenza’s doing? 

He half-expects to meet the Phantom Thieves along the way, but as he gets close to the construction site, he doesn’t see any of them. If Lavenza’s planning a raid on Maruki’s Palace, surely she wouldn’t try it with just one combatant--although Goro is starting to grow attached to the idea. Let the others live their mindless happiness. He’s more than used to being on his own.

But when he finally reaches the front gate, he seems to not be alone after all.

A man a few years older than him, and a girl his age. He could dismiss them as random passersby, were it not for a few factors.

The man is carrying a sword.

The girl does not have feet.

And between them floats another glimmering butterfly.

Goro has no time for pleasantries. “Who are you?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

The girl speaks first. “I am Aigis,” she says in a calm, oddly modulated tone. Her headgear is odd, too, though less so than the feet.

“Souji Seta,” the man says. He blinks. “Hold on, are you _Goro Akechi?”_

“Yes, but that’s irrelevant,” Goro snaps, unwilling to get into it if it turns out these two are _fans._ “How do you know Lavenza?”

Aigis cocks her head. “We do not know Lavenza,” she says. “Is she an attendant of the Velvet Room?”

Akira mentioned that name, said some things about it, when he introduced them to Lavenza. “Yes,” Goro says, and looks at the two butterflies. Neither of them has turned into a little girl. He suddenly wonders if they even _are_ Lavenza. Is the Velvet Room, whatever it is, just full of people wearing butterfly ornaments?

“We know some of those,” Seta says. “I guess if you know one, and she brought you here, it’s fine to trust you.” He jerks his thumb back to the Palace. “So do _you_ know what that thing is? Because we have no idea.”

Goro grits his teeth. He doesn’t know how much time Lavenza’s given him, he can’t afford to just wait around and _explain--_

The two butterflies flutter towards each other, and into each other, and merge into one butterfly before disappearing in a blue shimmer.

The air shatters.

It feels like a pressure at the back of Goro’s head is gone; he almost stumbles from the sudden absence of it. Aigis and Seta react much the same.

Goro looks around; the rest of reality hasn’t changed, the Palace is still there. If the actualization broke, it was only for them.

So they do have time, at least. But the heat in his veins throbs impatiently. 

He takes a deep breath and tries to settle down, at least a little bit. “Okay,” he says. “Why don’t you two tell me what _you’re_ doing here, and I’ll see what needs filling in.”

And they do. Though not in great detail.

Shadow Operatives is a fucking stupid name.

Wakaba Isshiki did mention the Kirijo Group. Goro knew, in a distant sort of way, that other people knew about Personas, and if other people knew about them then it takes very little deduction to guess that other people have them. But Isshiki said no one had been to the Metaverse before him. That, at least, made him special, is what he thought at the time. 

The Dark Hour, the TV world--he knows barely anything about them, other than that they existed and now don’t. And now he’s apparently met some of the people who got to visit them. And one of the people is a robot.

Whatever. Akira has a talking cat.

Goro points at the Palace. “That’s a Palace,” he says. “I’m going to go in there and kill the man who made it. You can come too if you want.”

Seta looks alarmed by the idea. “Wait, _kill?”_ he says. “Kill _who?”_

“The man who made it, _try_ to keep up,” Goro snaps, and hops the gate.

As he expected, he doesn’t need the Nav. His outfit flares into being around him, his sword appearing in his hand. He hears two _thud_ s behind him, one louder than the other, and glances back to see that Aigis and Seta decided to follow him after all.

Their clothes haven’t changed. Lucky them.

“That’s an, uh, interesting outfit,” Seta says, eyeing him.

Goro couldn’t give less of a fuck what Seta thinks of his outfit. He looks back at the Palace entrance and keeps walking.

“I would like more information on this man,” Aigis says, catching up to him. “Is he responsible for what has happened to the world?”

Goro nods. “He thinks he’s making everyone _happy,”_ he spits. “I take it you’ve seen how that’s going.”

Seta keeps up with them. “Yeah,” he says heavily, and for the briefest moment Goro wonders what he and Aigis have been through, being perhaps the only other people in the world who know that reality is twisted but not knowing _why,_ but he doesn’t let himself stop to think about it.

They reach the elevator, slam the button, get inside. And then they’re in Maruki’s Palace proper, all white walls and high ceilings and expansive stairs.

And past the stairs, milling, smiling cognitions, babbling around the display boards. 

“I never knew life could be so wonderful,” one of them says in a breathless voice. “Every day here is so…I can’t even describe it.”

Aigis and Seta look around the crowd. “Are these people with him?” Aigis asks.

“They’re not people,” Goro says. “And they don’t matter, so don’t get distracted.” The crowd doesn’t part for them; he shoves one cognition aside and pushes his way through.

“And if _we’re_ so blessed,” another one says, “I can only imagine what it’s like for our leader’s beloved. Simply being here is the most joyous of all things, but being _loved…”_ She gives a dreamy sigh. “It must be ecstasy.”

Goro stops in his tracks.

He turns to the other cognition, grabs her shoulder. “Are you talking about Akira Kurusu?” he demands.

Recognition dawns in the cognition’s eyes. “You’re one of his friends!” she says. “Of course you’d want to know how he’s doing. He’s very happy here, I assure you. Everyone is.”

Goro’s stomach twists. That doesn’t tell him anything, besides that Akira’s somewhere in the Palace, which he’d already guessed. The cognitions are too simple to know details; they probably think with the broad strokes of what Maruki thinks, and frankly Goro has no idea what Maruki thinks of Akira.

“Where is he?” Goro snaps, because that at least would be something useful.

But the cognition only shakes her head. “It’s not for us to know,” she says. “He deserves a quiet life. We’d only be in the way.”

Goro grits his teeth. But it’s not _entirely_ useless--there’s a kernel there, a grain that could lead to a trail.

What _does_ Maruki think of Akira?

He lets go of the cognition and continues out of the crowd, Aigis and Seta still keeping up.

“I know it seems like you’re not big on explanations,” Seta says, “but I think we’d like some, actually?”

“If something happens where it’d be useful for you to know more, I’ll tell you,” Goro says. He flings open the door at the other end of the hall. “Until then, just don’t get in my way.”

“‘Follow the butterfly, Souji,’” Seta mutters under his breath. “‘You’ll figure out what’s going on.’” Goro ignores him.

Past the room with the display boards is the massive reception room, more cognitions lining up at the front desks that span nearly to the walls. Above them, the giant security cameras move back and forth, scanning everything.

“Those cameras,” Aigis says. “Are we being watched?”

Goro honestly doesn’t know. Surely Maruki has better things to do than keep an eye on the security cameras. But maybe Maruki’s omniscient by now and doesn’t even need the cameras, who knows. 

Still. He looks up at one of the cameras and shouts, “Still think it was a good idea to keep me alive, Maruki?”

No answer. Not that he expected one.

He goes through the entrance between the front desks and heads for the next door.

Interminable hallways. Was the Palace this big last time? Well, yes, he does roughly remember this part of the layout. But the anger simmering hotter and hotter inside him makes it seem like it stretches on and on forever. It’ll take _hours_ to reach the top, assuming that’s where Maruki even is. Just the thought of it boils in his veins.

Where are all the Shadows, anyway? Surely they must still be here. Unless Maruki decided that in this perfect reality, no guards are needed?

Ah. Speak of the devil.

Black particles explode up out of the floor, turning into one of those Shadows in a lab coat. Seta immediately tenses and puts a hand on his sword. “Even intruders can still find happiness,” the Shadow says. “Come peacefully, and there will be no need for a--”

Goro lunges at it, sword raised. 

The Shadow immediately melts and reforms before he can reach it. Typical.

Two Dionysus and an Alilat. Well, he can help with the Alilat, at least.

 _“Loki!”_ he yells, and Loki appears with a rush of vicious glee; it’s been _months_ since he was let out, and even through the anger Goro can feel Loki’s satisfaction in downing the Alilat with an Eigaon.

“Finally, something I know how to do,” Seta says, and a shimmering blue card appears in front of him; he crushes it with his bare hand and cries out, _“Izanagi!”,_ summoning a black-coated Persona with an impassive face and massive sword.

Goro feels the crackle of electricity in the air before he sees the Ziodyne strike one of the Dionysus--and instantly reflect off of it, striking Seta square in the chest. 

_Amateur,_ he almost barks, but Seta seems unharmed, more sheepish about the error than anything else.

“My bad,” Seta says. “Uh, do you know these?”

Goro resists the urge to snap at them for wasting his time, and instead snaps, “No weakness, nulls bless and curse! Use fire or curse on the other one!”

“Affirmative,” Aigis says. _“Athena!”_

Aigis’ Persona turns out to be a helmeted woman in a white robe, encircled by a shield and carrying a spear. No elemental attacks; a God’s Hand merely crashes down onto the Dionysus Seta missed. It doesn’t take it down, but the Dionysus staggers. Aigis twitches a bit from the physical feedback.

The uninjured Dionysus sends out a Heat Wave; Goro feels the impact of it on his ribs. He grits his teeth, keeps himself steady.

The other Dionysus sends a crashing Ziodyne onto him. It hurts, but at the same time, Loki swells within him at the bloody joy of combat. No more futility, only the give and take of blood and power and ferocity, and if he were to die here it would be far better than the pathetic escape attempts of the past few months--he finds a grin on his lips, unhindered by the slow trickle of blood dripping past it.

The Alilat gets back up, blasts a Bufudyne straight at him, but he dodges like he’s sidestepping the punch of a toddler, and cackles as he slams all three with a Megidolaon.

“Fire, huh,” Seta says thoughtfully. Another card appears, and as he crushes it he yells, _“Mada!”_

A four-armed, fiery Persona Goro’s seen before appears above Seta. Goro stares at it, caught off-guard. That’s one of Akira’s. Why does Seta have one of Akira’s?

The resulting Maragidyne disintegrates the Alilat and the first Dionysus. Aigis takes down the second Dionysus with another God’s Hand, and then the battle is over, all three of them breathing heavy from the exertion.

Aigis looks at Goro. “You bore the brunt of their attacks,” she says. “Do not worry, I shall handle it. _Cybele!”_

Another of Akira’s Personas appears, along with the soothing green rush of Mediarahan. Goro’s wounds close, but his confusion only heightens.

The answer is obvious, of course--and he must admit he feels a petty little thrill at the knowledge that Akira isn’t that special after all.

Lavenza used a word for it, didn’t she? “Tricksters,” he says. “We’re crawling out of the woodwork, aren’t we.”

Aigis cocks her head. “Wildcards,” she says. “Are you one also? You did not change your Persona during the battle, though perhaps you did not need to.”

Goro doesn’t feel like explaining how unpleasant it feels to summon Robin Hood to a stranger. “I prefer Loki,” he says.

Seta nods. “Yeah, Izanagi’s always been the easiest for me,” he says, and gives a small smile. “It’s nice to meet another one. Wish it was under better circumstances, though.”

The reminder of the circumstances sours Goro’s mood. “Just keep moving,” he snaps.

The hallways continue, and they battle two more times before they reach a large room Goro remembers from his first infiltration, the one with just Akira and Yoshizawa. A fenced-off tree in the middle, and a set of screens above it.

Back then, the screens showed a scene from Yoshizawa’s past. She’s not here now, though, and anyway Goro already knows enough about her issues. He hopes, but not very optimistically, that the screens will stay blank this time.

They do not. Instead, they flicker into an image of--

Goro’s stomach curdles at the sight of Maruki and Akira in bed.

They’re clothed, at least, white pajamas that almost blend into the white bedspread lying over them. Maruki’s on his back, one of his arms wrapped around Akira’s shoulders. Akira’s head rests on Maruki’s chest, cuddling into him like a loyal pet.

Maruki’s face is soft and adoring, the picture of affection. Akira’s eyes are closed. He almost looks asleep.

Maruki pets Akira’s hair. “It’s so nice to be able to come home to you like this,” he murmurs. “After a long day, you’re exactly what I need.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Akira’s head. “But maybe I’ve been a bit too busy lately. I should set aside more time for just the two of us. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He tips up Akira’s chin, and Akira opens his eyes, moves up a little to let himself be kissed.

Akira’s eyes are only open for a few seconds, but for a moment Goro’s not sure it’s him after all, because Akira’s eyes have never looked like that.

Akira’s eyes have always been impenetrable steel, a storm cloud that could spark lightning at any moment, a curtain of rain shrouding the world from view. Calmness that could turn on a dime to a determined glare or a wild grin. Captivating, striking, far too easy to get distracted by while trying to keep control of the conversation or line up a shot or think of whatever cutting thing to say next.

This Akira’s eyes look like a corpse.

The anger in Goro’s veins ratchets up to a raw fury. Maruki looking so happy and Akira looking so-- _nothing_ rakes bloody holes into his chest. Is _this_ Maruki’s version of happiness? Has Akira spent six months like this? Is that even Akira anymore?

Not enough _information--_ maybe it’s not as bad as it looks. Maybe it’s performance, and Akira’s waiting for the right moment to break out.

Maybe.

The screen turns black.

“Was that Akira Kurusu?” Aigis asks, and her voice was calm and modulated before but now there’s something darker in it.

Goro doesn’t know how to answer that, and doesn’t want to, so he just follows the path to the door and feels the gouges in his chest tear wider with every thought.

He dispatches a Byakhee with just his sword, tearing into it until it would be a pile of bloody chunks if Shadows didn’t disintegrate. It’s not _enough._ Aigis and Seta handle the two Macabres with it, and Goro wants to snap at them that they should let him do it, let him tear apart everything in his path. But a part of his mind is still cogent enough to acknowledge that he wouldn’t be able to keep that up for long, especially without their healing. 

And then they reach the room where Yoshizawa’s forced delusions were brought to light, all those months ago.

Or the door to that room--the area is different now, no longer a cavernous auditorium. Now, it’s much smaller, much less grand. It looks more like the laboratories from higher in the Palace. Mostly furnished with bookshelves and scattered papers, and a single desk. The far end has a door; Goro stalks across the room to pull it open, and discovers that it won’t.

He pulls at it again; it still refuses to move. He grits his teeth. Is this another _puzzle?_ Didn’t they do enough of those last time?

Seta picks up one of the papers on the floor. “Blank,” he says, turning it over. “I think they all are.”

“Not that one,” Aigis says, pointing to a paper pinned next to the door.

Goro glances at it. A list, it looks like.

Aigis and Seta come over for a closer look. “A bibliography?” Seta asks, raising his eyebrows. “Kind of a weird one, though.”

Goro forces himself to read it. If they have to do something pointless and time-wasting to get through this room, they should get it done as soon as possible.

It _is_ a bibliography. A list of reference material, marked by title, author, and page number.

The titles are different, but the author is the same for all of them.

_Principles of Adolescent Attraction, Dr. Takuto Maruki, pp. 56_  
_Protective Instincts in the Human Male, Dr. Takuto Maruki, pp. 92_  
_The Role of Religion and Command in Modern Society, Dr. Takuto Maruki, pp. 72_  
_Human Sexuality: The Scientific Approach, Dr. Takuto Maruki, pp. 133_  
_Evolution of Romance in the New World, Dr. Takuto Maruki, pp. 268_

Inside Goro, Loki rages to be let out and destroy everything in the room.

Seta’s mouth twists. “Do we have to read these?” he asks, his voice tinged with revulsion.

“None of them list more than a page,” Aigis points out. “Perhaps we do not have to read very much.”

Seta glances around the packed-full bookshelves. “We do need to find them first, though,” he says.

“I can be of assistance,” Aigis says, and quickly walks from shelf to shelf, looking each of them up and down. When she finishes, she says, “I have located each title. The first one is over here.”

Goro doesn’t want to deal with whatever this fucking thing is, but the door still won’t open, and Palaces always have idiotic rules to obey. He goes to where Aigis is and pulls the book off the shelf, flipping it open to page 56.

A few paragraphs are already highlighted. How convenient.

_I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone quite like Kurusu-kun. Even beyond his strange connection to the cognitive world, his willingness to help with my research despite little tangible reward is a blessing after months of struggling on my own. He seems to enjoy our discussions, and I find myself looking forward to whatever the next one will be._

_It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy to look at. His eyes may be his best feature, but his face as a whole has a youthful appeal to it, as does his slender physique. I wonder if he’s hiding any amount of muscle. If he is, I’d like to see it. If he isn’t, I’d like to see that too._

_I know I shouldn’t be thinking about this. But what’s the harm? He doesn’t know, and neither does anyone else. I can control myself. Merely imagining these things never hurt anybody. Besides, it’s a natural human reaction. Fantasies about the loss of innocence are common. This isn’t any different._

_His hair looks soft. I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingers._

Goro wants to vomit.

Aigis and Seta read over his shoulder. Seta’s expression darkens further, and Aigis’ calm seems to lessen even more.

“Who is this man?” Aigis asks.

Goro pushes the bile back down his throat and says, “The counselor at Akira’s school.”

And a host of other things. But that’s the important one, right now.

Seta looks back at the door. “I think the papers on the desk have changed,” he says. “Let’s check it out.”

They do, and the papers have. Or one of them, at least. Halfway down the page is a title:

_Akira Kurusu: The Process of Creating the Perfect Lover_

None of them say anything. Seta puts the page back down on the desk.

“The next book is over there,” Aigis says, pointing at another shelf.

_I’m worried about him. The world he’s fallen into is dangerous, and I’m afraid he doesn’t realize it. Now that we can no longer meet at school, he won’t be as accessible to me. I wish I could’ve convinced him to stop. Or at least to let me take him to a hospital. He needs proper care, not whatever he’s getting from that quack clinic in Yongen-Jaya._

_I don’t know if touching him was a good idea. But he didn’t seem to mind it. Could I have done more? The Sakuras weren’t there. I don’t want to jostle his injuries, but I could be gentle. He deserves something gentle._

_He deserves much more than what he’s getting. I wish I could take him away from all of this, keep him somewhere he’d finally be safe and happy. And in a place like that I know I could love him as he deserves to be loved._

It feels like flames are licking at Goro’s skin, like he’s burning from the inside out. He already knew the big picture, but actually seeing it, actually reading Maruki’s thoughts about it, is hammering in more and more how much of a sick bastard Maruki actually is. 

Seta rubs between his eyebrows, his expression unsettled. Aigis says nothing. 

Goro has enough civility in him to be grateful for the lack of commentary.

The third book.

_I can finally do it. I can make reality the way it should be. I never wanted to be a god, but if separating myself from humanity is the only way I can do this, I’ll gladly take on that burden. All cultures have leaders, don’t they? Regardless of scale, society always finds a way to have a single person at the top. Humanity naturally trends towards submission to an authority figure. That can be exploited, of course, but I am not a cruel man, and I expect no rewards for this. My actions are solely for the benefit of the world. Even gods can’t claim that._

_Kurusu-kun is one such authority figure, but the role was forced upon him. Expecting a teenager to bear so much weight is inhumane. When the yoke of heroism is lifted from him, he’ll finally be free to live the kind of peaceful, undemanding life he needs to make up for what he’s been through. He’s as human as anyone else, and I know humanity’s natural trend applies to him too._

_Perhaps I am not entirely unselfish in this. But it’s not as if I think of him as a prize. Being with me is what he needs, and it would be crueler of me to deny him that._

_Gods are allowed to love, I think. And love does not have to be without pleasure._

The egomania drips from every word. Was Maruki ever a normal man, or did his delusions run deep even before the power of a god landed at his feet? Certainly he had no problem justifying his depravity to himself. 

Loki claws at the barrier of Goro’s mind, promising blood. 

“I think the pages on the desk have more writing on them now,” Seta says quietly. “Should we look at them?”

They’ll still be there when they finish. Goro has no interest in drawing out this disgusting puzzle, even if just by walking back and forth.

The fourth book.

_Kurusu-kun feels even better than I thought he would. I’ve only used my hand so far, but he’s wonderfully responsive. I’m having some thoughts about Azathoth’s tendrils, and I’m looking forward to trying them out._

_It might be hard on him. But I need to get him used to the idea of submission, and this way helps condition his body, too. Teenage inexperience has its charms, but sex is an important part of a relationship and I don’t want him to feel he’s not good enough for me. Besides, rewards are sweeter after discomfort. He’ll appreciate the softer moments more if he has something to contrast them with._

_Much as I’m reluctant to, I think I’ll hold off on making love to him. It’s better to save the heightened intimacy of the act for a crucial moment. After some conditioning, he’ll likely be more vulnerable and receptive, which will combine well with the emotional flood and ease the final steps of the path to complete acceptance._

_But I do look forward to it. I itch to take him to bed whenever I see him. I must remind myself to be patient, so that base lust does not overcome the deeper and more encompassing nature of my love._

Aigis might be saying something; Goro can’t hear it through the roaring in his ears.

 _This_ is the man the Phantom Thieves subconsciously thought could help the world? How could the extent of this monstrosity not been noticed? But oh, the world is very good at keeping this hidden, isn’t it. Monsters sit at committees and board meetings and all seats of power, and the people around them pretend not to notice, out of cowardice or corruption or envy. Goro knows plenty of them, saw it firsthand at parties and events and the institutional inhumanity of the legal system. Foulness of every stripe, rampant and unchecked and treated as a part of the world you just have to get used to.

The Phantom Thieves fought against this, or thought they did, and even they didn’t see the predator waving hello in the school hallway. The atrocity baked into the very bones of society cannot be defeated by a ragtag group of children who worried if a slap on the wrist might be _unheroic._

White-hot fury strains against the inside of his skin so hard it’s a wonder he isn’t blackened by it. If what these books say is true, Akira’s failure may have been more torturous and more _planned_ than even he’d thought; and even Akira, perfect unstoppable hero who fought evil with a sly grin and saved people as easily as breathing, could not stand against the world’s cruelty in the end. 

Goro has never believed in the concept of fairness. But even if only in a small, fragile way, he believed in Akira, and this Palace--this man--this epitome of everything that is wrong with the world crushed even that, and the fury rises, and rises, and rises.

The final book.

_Kurusu-kun has never been more beautiful than he is now._

_After his outburst a few days ago, he’s completely calmed down. Perhaps it is partly due to the fusing of reality, but I like to think my conditioning was the primary factor. He no longer requires consolation, though I still like to give it. When he speaks, it is with quiet contentment and acceptance. In bed he is more pliable than ever, more receptive to my suggestions and unbothered by the more elaborate acts. I no longer see any hesitation in his eyes. He is more perfect than I could have dreamed._

_One day he’ll tell me he loves me. I’m content to wait for it. His words grow rarer, as he has less need for them, and I’ve no wish to force them out before their time. We have all the time in the world now. In truth, if he never spoke again I would still love him. His obedience is more than enough to show me how he feels._

_I think I’ll take a day off soon, to celebrate our communion. His endurance has strengthened considerably, and now that he is at my disposal whenever I wish, I find it harder and harder to resist proving my love to him in the most satisfying of ways. Who could resist such beauty, waiting so calmly for my touch?_

_Our happiness is now set in stone. Both the ideal world and the ideal Kurusu-kun are finally in my hands. I can’t imagine being happier than I am now._

_Ah, I should go. It is late, and I have a warm bed waiting for me, and a beautiful boy ready to be loved._

And the rage roiling under Goro’s skin like magma consumes him completely.

He clutches his head in pain as it hits him like a physical wave. Loki tears open his ribs from the inside, screams of vengeance and justice and the psychosis of authority. To hell with every figure that has ever treated people as objects, to hell with the man who took apart the only person in the world worth caring about, to hell with this godforsaken _Palace_ and _puzzles_ and every hall and door and insignificant guard in his _way_ every monster every kind-eyed hard-eyed smiling smirking demon preying and devouring until there is nothing _left----------_

Let the foul structures of the world drown in fire! Let society turn to ash! _Destruction is all he has ever been good for and if the very gods stand in his way HE WILL TAKE THE GODS WITH HIM!_

_**I AM THOU!** _

Loki tears himself from Goro’s soul anew with a sound like the shearing of the world.

A striped face splits open, rows and rows of red, bloody teeth gnashing at the air. Limbs bubble and hiss from the venom dripping down them like acid. Raw, blistering burns in the shape of chains criss-cross a body wreathed in roaring fire, braids tangled and charred, one horn splintering at the end. The figure crouches on a broken, blackened sword and screeches like a wounded animal.

It is unspeakably painful, and Goro has never felt more alive.

Though he is bent double from the agony and blood drips from his mouth, he points at the insignificant door and screams, _“HVEÐRUNGR!”_

The maddened, blazing embodiment of his soul tears through the wall like it’s made of tissue.

Papers scatter, scorched at the edges. Aigis and Seta stare in--surprise, or maybe fear, or maybe horror. It doesn’t _matter,_ not when the way is clear and he’s one step closer to his target.

Beyond the gaping hole in the wall, a startled Shadow in a security outfit rears up and melts, reforming into a trio of Fafnirs. In the back of his brain, Goro dimly remembers just one of these being a frustrating fight. But Hveðrungr bays for blood, and even if the blood is black _it will do._

Aigis and Seta get into battle positions, Seta’s sword out, Aigis’ hands raised. They’re not blocking the enemy, so he ignores them. 

The Fafnirs roar a battle cry, their strong metal scales gleaming in the bright white hallway. 

Goro’s entire being is an incandescent storm, burning and purifying his flesh in equal measure. Everything narrows down to a single point: _IN MY WAY._

 _“Hveðrungr!”_ Goro screams. _“World’s End!”_

Hveðrungr raises his burning, dripping claws and screeches so loudly Seta claps his hands to his ears, and a tide of energy crashes over the battlefield, swallowing the Fafnirs in blinding light. The feedback hits Goro like a sledgehammer, forcing a torrent of blood from his mouth, something in his chest audibly snapping and driving the sharp ends into his flesh.

Goro falls to his knees. As the energy fades to reveal a hall wiped clean of any foe, the excruciating pain and unending fury war within him. 

_GET UP,_ his mind roars. _THIS IS NOT ENOUGH GET UP GET UP_

The psychotic breakdown of how many months ago is nothing, _nothing_ compared to this volcanic flood swallowing the core of his soul, but a mortal body has its limits, and--and his head feels…blurry. Black spots speckle his vision, and he coughs more blood onto the floor, the taste of it filling his mouth with every breath he barely manages to take.

_GET UP GET UP_

_“Cybele!”_

Seta’s voice. Diarahan. His flesh and ribs knit back together, his breath stops coming out in bloody gasps.

Goro gets up.

“Akechi-san, are you okay?” Aigis says in a carefully calm, modulated voice, and even now there is a tiny tiny part of him that wants to tell her to call him Crow, but it is so small and so quiet that Hveðrungr overwhelms it without question.

“Never better,” he rasps, and moves forward.

The rest of the Palace is almost pathetically easy. Shadows fall like ants, doors crumble under Hveðrungr’s onslaught, cognitions flee at the sight of them. Of course, Goro is nearly overcome with agony and debilitating injury every time, but what does that matter? Aigis and Seta are at least proving themselves minimally useful in that regard.

Eventually, though, just before the elevator leading to the Twilight Corridor, Seta steps in front of him and says, “Okay, break time.”

Goro glowers at him. “Out of my way,” he growls.

“Without us you’d have died like twenty times by now, you can spare five minutes to let _us_ take a break,” Seta says firmly.

And despite Hveðrungr’s displeasure, he does have a point. Seta is visibly exhausted.

Seta leans against a wall, breathing heavily. “Aigis, you got those somas?” he asks wearily.

Aigis nods. Her exhaustion is less obvious, but there is a slight jerkiness to her movements. “Indeed,” she says. “It is fortunate the Shadow Operatives’ supply center is still in operation.” She pulls out a small glass bottle filled with a pale green, faintly glowing liquid, and raises it to her lips.

When she swallows, the glow suffuses all three of them. Seta lets out a deep breath as the sweat on his forehead fades away. Aigis stands straighter.

Goro is already fully healed from the aftermath of the last altercation, so it doesn’t affect him. But there is still a tiny part of him that remembers fights that didn’t go well, and Akira drinking down a much-needed cure-all that spread through his bones like cool water.

Seta looks at him. “So,” he says. “Personas can’t usually do that.”

Perhaps the soma did affect him enough to restore a measure of civility. “I always wanted to be special,” he says drily.

“Probably not in a way that is actually killing you, though,” Seta says with a frown.

“I’m dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” Goro says unthinkingly, and wonders if he should have said that, and decides he doesn’t care.

Aigis and Seta both look faintly alarmed. “What do you mean?” Aigis asks.

“Maruki brought me back to life to fulfill someone’s wish,” Goro says. “When I destroy this reality, I’ll return to what I should be.” Although he’s not entirely sure _where_ he’ll end up. Vanished along with the Metaverse? An anonymous corpse somewhere? Wouldn’t it be fun if his body appeared on the steps of the Diet.

“And you’re…okay with that?” Seta asks slowly.

Goro shrugs. “It’s better than being a madman’s puppet,” he says. And no more than he deserves, though he doesn’t feel like explaining that.

Aigis frowns. “Still, if there was a way to save you…”

“There isn’t,” Goro says. “And I’m done talking about this. Break’s over.”

Hveðrungr growls of last acts and dying vengeance. It seems fitting that that is what his ragged excuse for a soul turns into at the end.

They get in the elevator, and arrive in the Twilight Corridor.

Goro is momentarily stunned--

Then even Hveðrungr goes still as he breaks into hysterical laughter.

The _statues._ Of course. Akira is embedded in this Palace, of course he’d have overwritten Rumi here too. For a moment, Goro vaguely wonders what the video tapes and query doors would have shown him if he hadn’t turned them into rubble.

“I take it something’s new?” Seta asks, looking around the expansive, verdant room.

The reminder that two strangers are seeing all of this, all of Maruki’s abhorrent view of Akira, without knowing any of the _real_ Akira, sours in Goro’s stomach. “Let’s just keep moving,” he snaps.

Hveðrungr handles the colored gates that gave the Phantom Thieves so much trouble last time, even if Goro nearly blacks out a few times from the agony and the floor is splattered with his blood.

And then they’re at the garden.

It’s just as repulsive as last time, a cloying, suffocating parody of Eden that Maruki must think is beautiful and calming. A glass staircase wraps around the center tree, extending up and up and up.

Goro half-expected to find Akira here. It’s the peak of Maruki’s distortion, after all. But with a sour feeling he remembers those repulsive books mentioning a bed, so there must be a room somewhere. Up ahead? Hidden deep within, someplace they never knew to check?

If Sakura was here--

Hveðrungr drives away the thought, and Goro takes a step upon the stair.

 _“So, you’re here,”_ says a sorrowful voice that makes Goro’s rage roar into being once more. It comes from high above, far from reach. For now.

“Did you expect I would go quietly into your hellscape?” Goro snaps. “Frankly, you’re lucky this didn’t happen sooner.”

 _“I’d hoped time would soothe you,”_ Maruki says. _“I see I was wrong. If defeat is what you need to accept your happiness, I will give that to you. Come to me when you are ready.”_ And the voice goes silent.

Goro takes another step, and breaks into a run without checking to see if Aigis and Seta are following. Hveðrungr claws at his skin, screams to be let out.

Up and up they go, past golden branches bearing giant, twitching apples, past great swaths of shimmering fiberoptic cable, higher and higher until they reach the peak, where all golden light seeps away and the gleaming glass staircase ends abruptly at a wide, dark platform.

Iridescent tentacles coil into the sky like walls of vines, cutting off the sunlight. In the center, wearing the same sickeningly pristine white clothes and an infuriatingly sad expression, stands Maruki.

“I see you’ve brought some new friends with you,” Maruki says, looking over Aigis and Seta. “I must admit, I never intended for their paths to cross yours. It seemed risky. Moreover, their own happiness required some…fine-tuning. The finishing touches were still on my to-do list.”

His gaze settles on Aigis. “You, in particular,” he says softly. “When it comes to people sharing a desire that can only be achieved by one person, it can be difficult for me to weigh which person deserves it most. But your need is greatest, I think. You had deeper feelings for her than anyone. I promise you this, Aigis-san--if you leave now and return to your part of this reality, the one you love will be waiting for you.”

Aigis stiffens. “You are not worthy to speak of her,” she says in a lower, darker tone than Goro has heard her use. “And I know she would not wish for this reality any more than I do.”

“Do you?” Maruki asks quietly. “She’s not here to say. But she could be, if you let her.”

Aigis raises her hands, fingers outstretched to show the cannons within. “If you continue to blaspheme her, I will not hesitate to strike you down,” she says coldly.

Maruki gives her a sorrowful look. “I see,” he says. And he turns to look at Seta. “Can you truly say that Nanako-chan would be better off without her mother?” he asks. “Or that you yourself would rather your parents not be the loving, accepting ones I gave you?”

Seta grips the hilt of his sword tighter. “I’ve made my peace with who my parents are,” he says steadily. “And Nanako was perfectly happy the way she was. Besides, your version of how I met my friends is pretty vague. For someone who thinks he’s a god, you’re not _actually_ omnipotent, are you? Your reality’s so full of holes I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed on its own already.”

Maruki sighs. “Though it pains me, I am willing to take the necessary measures to bring the three of you to your--”

 _“Where’s Akira,”_ Goro snarls.

Maruki blinks.

“I know he’s in here _somewhere,_ this place made it very clear,” Goro snaps. “Is he nearby, or do you have a dollhouse somewhere to keep your favorite toy in?”

“Kurusu-kun is none of your concern,” Maruki says, his voice even. “I realize you were fond of him, but he’s in safe hands now. You don’t have to worry about him.”

A hysterical laugh falls from Goro’s mouth. _“Safe?_ I saw that fucking video. Is he even _himself_ anymore?”

“He’s in good health, he’s content, and he’s no longer suffering from the burden of his former responsibilities,” Maruki says calmly. “Any interference will only hurt him.”

“Answer me this, then,” Goro says, coldly, far colder than the inferno blazing inside him. “If your actions are so benevolent and your world so wonderful, _what freed us?”_

And Maruki hesitates.

“You don’t _know,”_ Goro says in a low voice, Hveðrungr’s venom dripping from his words. “There’s something about the world you _don’t know._ You’re no god, Maruki, you’re a man like any other, a repulsive, sadistic man no different from the ordinary monsters I’ve seen all my life, and like any man you can _die._

_“HVEÐRUNGR!”_

But before Hveðrungr’s claws can reach Maruki, a tentacle shoots up from the ground, blocking the attack. It looks different from the others--darker, and with a hand on the end, long fingers sharpening into deadly claws. The tentacle sways back and forth, as if taunting them.

“If I must change your mind by force, I will,” Maruki says softly, and in a blaze of blue flame his outfit transforms into something gold and white and frankly ridiculous, but Goro can’t concentrate on the outfit when he sees the metallic golden figure rising in the background.

Limbless, unmoving, almost like a giant amulet of some kind, until the tentacles wrap around it and Goro realizes what it is: of _course_ Maruki’s Persona would make an appearance. Hveðrungr growls the name _Azathoth._

Very well. Two targets is little different from one.

Perhaps Aigis and Seta can get a few hits in.

Goro grits his teeth, Aigis aims her cannons, Seta raises his sword.

_“Hveðrungr!”_

_“Athena!”_

_“Izanagi!”_

And the battle begins.

Even Hveðrungr’s attack seems to do little damage to Maruki. Azathoth absorbs the blow, much stronger than any mere Shadow. Aigis and Seta mostly attack the tentacles, but they keep regenerating, and Goro vomits blood for little gain.

“Your attacks are killing you,” Maruki calls out. “Don’t you see that as a sign? What you’re doing only brings you pain!”

Diarahan flows over him. He’s spent the last six months throwing himself against a brick wall; at least this time he has backup, and a volcanic fury he couldn’t stop if he tried.

“I’ve accepted my death!” Goro yells, his voice full of Hveðrungr’s blistering rage. “Shut the fuck up and accept yours!”

It isn’t an easy battle. It isn’t a quick battle. Aigis and Seta have to trade off attacking the tentacles and healing Goro, and they take damage too. Goro’s fury burns, and burns, and burns, rising higher with every second, barely dampened by the agony that crushes his ribs, cuts into his flesh, coats his clothes with blood.

But it isn’t a _losing_ battle.

Azathoth is stronger, but not immortal. Hveðrungr’s rage breaks though the brick wall piece by piece. Athena and Izanagi cut down the tentacles, and with an eerie cry, Azathoth slumps in its perch. Only Maruki is left, standing alone.

The fight doesn’t take much longer after that.

Hveðrungr knocks Maruki to the ground, leaving him gasping and battered. Goro marches up to him in an instant.

Goro aims his gun directly at Maruki’s chest. _“Where’s Akira,”_ he hisses.

Maruki looks up at him with no less fervor in his eyes. “Safe from you,” he rasps. “But I’m proud of you, Akechi-kun. Even if your passion is misguided, you’ve grown much stronger than I could’ve hoped. But I’m afraid even that strength is only mortal.” His eyes gleam as he cries, _“Ada--”_

Goro shoots him.

Once. Twice. He empties the clip.

Maruki’s body collapses, riddled with fatal wounds. Just a man, as Goro said.

Seta inhales sharply. Aigis shoots a hard glance at Goro.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Seta says quietly. “We’re not--executioners.”

“I don’t have much faith in the legal system,” Goro says icily. “Or in _anything,_ besides what this man may have destroyed.”

Destroyed--

Azathoth crumbles.

 _Everything_ starts to crumble.

Goro is about to die, he realizes. The Metaverse is collapsing. Aigis and Seta may find a way out, they seem resourceful, but escape is meaningless for him.

In minutes, perhaps moments, he will die.

Having saved reality, yes. Having done one good thing at the end of his joke of a life. 

Does that make it easier?

Does that bring him comfort?

Is there any point to those questions?

Even if Aigis and Seta make it out, they don’t know where Akira is. He, too, is trapped here, somewhere, and the collapse of the Palace will end what is left of him.

All of Goro’s anger dwindles, fades. It’s served its purpose, it’s done what it needed to, and all it leaves behind is an exhaustion etched into Goro’s soul.

Perhaps it’s appropriate, that he and Akira die together. Perhaps it’s even appropriate that they die together but separated, not able to even see each other in the end. 

Appropriate, but cruel, but the world is always cruel, and Goro expected no kindness at the end. 

But--

But--

Here, moments from the end, Goro realizes that he doesn’t _want_ to die.

He doesn’t want _Akira_ to die, and especially not like this, whatever half-aware shell Maruki made of him, alone somewhere and far away from all the people he loved. Akira deserves a better fate than this, and regardless of what Goro deserves he doesn’t _want_ this, and--

Goro is so tired, and so scared, and neither of those things mean anything, because tired and scared and far from the only person he cares about is what he gets in the end, no matter how much he doesn’t want it, no matter how unfair it is, no matter how much he wishes he--if just once, he could’ve-----

And in the air next to him, a glowing cell door appears and slams open.

Aigis and Seta look at it instantly, already caught off-guard by the collapsing Palace. But they’re not idiots, and neither is Goro, and the blue glow of the door is awfully similar to the blue glow of the butterflies.

All three of them dive in. It slams closed behind them.

The door opens into a circular room, lined with prison cells. A desk sits in the center, a strange man behind it; and next to it, a girl he’s only seen once, but remembers vividly.

“Can you find Akira?” Goro demands, because if _he’s_ allowed to survive then _surely--_

“He is already here,” Lavenza says quietly. “I do not think you should see him yet. My master and I have some explanations first.”

Relief floods Goro’s mind. What Lavenza’s saying still isn’t great, but…alive, at least. And somewhere safe. If this place is safe. Goro’s not sure.

“Well done, all of you,” her master says, an enigmatic smile filling his face. Goro vaguely recalls Akira mentioning a name--Igor? “I am pleased to see you have overcome a ruin even we did not predict.”

Lavenza looks at Aigis and Seta. “We must thank you for aiding in a task beyond your jurisdiction,” she says. “Without you, it is doubtful this would have succeeded.”

“The Shadow Operatives are always ready,” Aigis says primly.

“This was affecting us too,” Seta says, nodding. “We should kinda be thanking _you_ for giving us this chance.”

Lavenza’s eyes lower. “We should have taken action sooner,” she whispers. “We should have noticed the cause before the situation worsened so drastically. If we had, then…”

“You did now,” Goro says. “That’s what matters.”

It’s what Akira would say, he thinks. He’s not one for comforting words, or at least not sincere ones.

Lavenza looks back up. “That is a kind way to put it,” she says, her face just slightly lighter.

“In any case,” Igor says. “With your actions, the Metaverse comes undone, and reality unwinds. The world now is the world it would be without the false god’s control. Those who have been to the Metaverse will remember the false reality, but the events of the past seven months in the true reality cannot be changed.”

He looks directly at Goro, and Goro feels cold.

Did they bring him here just to give him a different set of final moments, then?

“That being said,” Lavenza says, “there is a twist of luck for you, Goro Akechi. Death in the Metaverse does not always follow the same rules as death in reality. The false god is indeed no more, but you are not. Under normal circumstances, you would merely have reappeared in the real world after the destruction of Masayoshi Shido’s Palace, but the false god…complicated the issue. As it stands, you have simply spent the last seven months absent from the world. When you return, you will be fully alive and unharmed.”

After all of this--after everything he has done--

Alive and unharmed, and Maruki in the grave, and Shido in some prison somewhere. 

Alive and unharmed--

She said he was ‘absent’.

Not ‘imprisoned’.

Goro feels cold again, and asks, “But where’s _Akira_ been?”

Lavenza looks away.

“That is another thing we must explain,” she says quietly.

“In the real world, Akira Kurusu has been imprisoned since late December. Were we to return him now, that is where he would go.”

Whatever Maruki made Akira into--trapped in another hellhole, possibly a worse one.

“Put me there instead,” Goro says, almost without thinking. “I already chose to do that, I’ll choose it again.”

Lavenza gives him a small, sad smile. “That is brave of you to offer, but your circumstances prevent it,” she says. “Your existence between the destruction of Masayoshi Shido’s Palace and the false god’s initial ascendance is in a fragile state. Were we to attempt to restore you there, we could not guarantee you would appear at all, or simply vanish entirely. The chance of your survival is small enough that we will not risk it.”

Goro wants to say they should risk it anyway. Prison wouldn’t be kind to Akira under normal circumstances, and now…

But that realization, again, that he doesn’t want to die.

“However,” Lavenza says, “we do not wish for Akira Kurusu to suffer that fate either. Thus, we have prepared a plan.

“When we return the three of you, he will remain here for a time. In reality, it will be as if he disappeared from his cell. The public’s cognition will be that he is missing, not in prison, and we will be able to return him to a safe location, unharmed.”

The past several minutes have been a twisting path of relief and fear. The relief now feels real, but…there is a greater issue they have been avoiding.

“If you’ve got all of that planned out, I want to see him,” Goro says.

Lavenza hesitates, just for a moment. Then she says, quietly, “I will take you to him. But I ask that you do not react drastically to his situation.”

A pit forms in Goro’s stomach. “I’ll…try not to upset him,” he says. Though he has little confidence he will be able to hold back every emotion, if it’s as bad as he thinks it is.

Lavenza shakes her head. “That is not what I mean,” she says. “It would not upset him, and I believe that would upset you.”

And the pit in his stomach worsens.

“Should we…go, or…” Seta says, probably as delicately as he can.

“I have a proposal,” Aigis says abruptly, and they all turn to look at her.

“Akechi-san,” she says. “Do you have anywhere to go after you return?”

Goro realizes that he doesn’t.

His apartment has undoubtedly been taken by someone else. He may even have been legally declared dead. He has no job, and no home, and the only person who might have any interest in changing that is…

“No,” he says.

Aigis nods. “As a founding member of the Shadow Operatives, it is within my capability to offer you shelter,” she says. “What you wish to do with your life is up to you, but at the very least we can give you a place to stay.”

Goro’s first instinct is to say no. The idea of charity turns his stomach. He doesn’t even _know_ Aigis, much less the people she works for.

But in a way, that makes it better, doesn’t it? Like how it’s easier for most people to talk about their problems to total strangers. 

And…what other option does he have?

“Okay,” he says, wondering if he’s made the right decision, and knowing he didn’t really have a choice in it.

Aigis nods again. “Very well,” she says. “That is all I wished to say.” She looks at Lavenza. “Souji-san and I will leave now,” she says. “When Akechi-san is ready to leave, please send him to me.”

Lavenza nods, and takes Aigis and Seta back to the door. They leave through it; the door doesn’t show any sign of where they’re going.

Lavenza turns back to Goro. “Follow me,” she says.

So he does.

She doesn’t take him to one of the cells in the main area; he’d already glanced around, anyway, seen that they were all empty. But there’s a back hallway, deep blue and long, dotted with other cells. Also empty.

“Much of this Velvet Room is not suited for long-term stay,” Lavenza says. “Or short-term stay with any degree of comfort. I thought it wisest to keep him in a different room.”

The cots in the cells didn’t look very comfortable, no. Lavenza leads him to a room with an actual wooden door, not bars. Did she think Akira wanted privacy? Does Akira still know what privacy is?

She opens the door.

Inside is a bed, and a couch. Both blue. Both seeming of relatively nice quality. No light fixtures, but the room is well-lit regardless.

Akira sits on the couch, looking at the far wall.

He’s wearing clothes that don’t suit him at all--a thin white sweater, and white slacks. No glasses. Is he a little thinner than usual? Well, he was already thinner than usual the last time Goro saw him, that horrible evening in January.

But the last time Goro saw him, he had an expression on his face. He spoke, he had body language, he was visibly unhappy.

This Akira glances towards him, and that’s it. His face is blank. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. His eyes are as dead as they were in the video.

What Goro saw in the video, what he read in the books, what Maruki said--he knew what it meant, he knew what to expect. But seeing Akira face to face is another thing entirely. Getting a close view of…this, is…

The anger has already faded, but exhaustion seeps into Goro’s bones. God, he’s so tired. Of…everything, really. 

“I don’t know what exactly he went through,” Lavenza says quietly. “But it seems to have left him largely unresponsive. He knows we’re here, he looked at me when I spoke to him…but he did not reply, or show any reaction to being here.”

Goro takes a step closer, and another. Akira’s eyes continue to follow him. He stops in front of the couch, and says, a little hesitantly, “Akira?”

No response.

Was he hoping that Akira would respond to _him,_ rather than Lavenza? Arrogance. Akira hardly gives him priority anyway, it makes sense he wouldn’t here.

Still, it--it does…put a small and quiet feeling in Goro’s chest, that he doesn’t seem to be any form of special to Akira at all.

Maybe he shouldn’t even be calling him Akira. Akira never called him Goro, he’d remember it if he had. 

But that’s the one thing he can keep, the one tiny intimacy he’s allowed. It at least puts him on the same level as Akira’s other friends. Unless Akira tells him not to--

Well, there’s something, isn’t there, that he’d rather Akira eventually be able to tell him not to.

Goro looks at Lavenza. “How long will it be until you bring him back to the real world?” he asks.

“Perhaps a week,” Lavenza replies. “To solidify the public’s cognition. Would you like to be there when he returns?”

God, Goro would.

But she’ll probably take him back to Leblanc, back to the people he cares about, who wouldn’t be very happy to see Goro even if they knew how Akira escaped. 

Goro shakes his head.

Judging by the sad look on Lavenza’s face, she seems to get it. 

“Very well,” she says. “I can bring you to Aigis now, if you wish.”

“Sure,” Goro says. He looks back at Akira, who looks at him.

“I hope I see you again someday,” Goro says quietly. “Or at least that you’re able to tell me you don’t want to see me. Whichever it is, you’re in good hands. The others will look after you far better than I could.”

Akira doesn’t respond.

Goro almost manages to feel nothing about that.

He turns to Lavenza. “Let’s go,” he says, very calmly.

And they go.

The door opens into an office.

A private office, it appears; a fancy mahogany desk, bookshelves filled with books and binders, plush carpet, wainscoting and pleasantly subdued off-white walls. A computer Sakura would probably envy. An extremely ergonomic-looking chair.

Aigis, and a woman with long, red hair.

The door closes behind him and disappears while the woman blinks at him. Aigis seems unsurprised.

“Ah,” the woman says. “Goro Akechi, I take it? Our latest Wildcard?”

“One of them,” Goro says, as evenly as he can. “And you are…?”

“Mitsuru Kirijo,” says Mitsuru Kirijo, holding out her hand. Goro takes it. Her handshake is firm, but not overly so.

Kirijo. Aigis and Seta really do have backing.

“I hope you’ll pardon me, but Aigis seems short on details,” Kirijo says, with a slight smile. “I don’t suppose you’d mind filling in a few things?”

It’s not like he has anything better to do.

So even though he’s dead on his feet, Goro tells them a story about another world, and foolish heroes, and gods, and monsters, and the end of most of those things.

Mostly, he tells them about Akira.

It almost doesn’t hurt to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a panic attack and thoughts about committing suicide, though not the actual desire to do it.
> 
> Also, just to get it out of the way: trauma does not make for a reliable narrator.

How do you live when you have spent the better part of a year planning to die?

For a month, Goro was convinced he would die soon; for six months, he tried to die whenever he could, and usually succeeded, but it never lasted. Does that do something to you? Does that change who you are? What does that leave you with?

When so much of your identity became the search for death, what happens when the search ends and you find that you are still alive?

Goro doesn’t _want_ to die, that’s for certain. Dying is too neat a bow on the story that was forced upon him. If cosmic forces want him dead so badly, he’s not going to give it to them.

But still--what is he, really, at this point? A detective? Does he want to go to college? If he can build his own identity, what identity would feel _right,_ and not like another skin to force himself into until it tears? There might be an identity to be found here, but is it one he wants?

Questions without answers. Problems without solutions.

And Goro’s not sure he’d like the answers if he knew them.

\---

Life at the Shadow Ops headquarters is much quieter than Goro thought it would be.

The world doesn’t need saving every day, he supposes. Most of the fulltime employees work for the Kirijo Group, officially, handling the everyday affairs of business and communication and security. There are _cubicles._

There are also laboratories.

He has requested to not be involved with those.

Aigis seems to be the only member without any ordinary duties. A first responder of sorts, or an assistant to Mitsuru Kirijo, or whatever else they need her to be that involves otherworldly matters.

Otherworldly. There have only been a handful of what Aigis calls “mass events”, incidents where for whatever reason Shadows infringed upon the human world in a way that could have been cataclysmic. There doesn’t seem to be a way to predict them, or even necessarily a way to notice them in their early stages. Seta, apparently, spent almost a year caught up in one, and the Kirijos didn’t even hear about it until months later.

So the Shadow Operatives are… _very_ interested to hear about the Metaverse.

“Wakaba Isshiki did work with us for a time,” Mitsuru says, in one of the early rounds of interviews, seated in her office with Aigis and Goro. “She theorized the other world could be on the verge of a new transformation, but I believe the lack of concrete evidence frustrated her. When she received a more lucrative offer from an outside group who promised dedicated research, rather than our more generalized approach…” Her mouth thins. “We regret it deeply.”

“As do I,” Goro says quietly, because he _does,_ if he’d known that Shido always knew who he was then he would’ve done everything differently. _What_ he would’ve done differently, he…he’s not sure yet. But he would’ve thought of something. 

Mitsuru’s face softens. He regrets bringing it up.

“We would be very interested in bringing in Futaba Sakura,” Aigis says. “Not as an employee, but a consultant. Do you think she would be amenable to that?”

“I do have her number, assuming she hasn’t blocked me,” he says. “I suppose I could contact her.”

“Please do,” Mitsuru says. “In all honesty, we’d like to speak to all of the Phantom Thieves, but Sakura seems to be the one with the most information, judging by what you’ve said.”

It’s a smart decision. Sakura will probably enjoy it, even, getting a chance to geek out about the Metaverse with actual researchers.

He hopes they won’t ask him to be there when she visits.

\---

Goro decides to call her. She may not respond to texts immediately.

She doesn’t say anything when she picks up; a few seconds of silence pass before he says, “Sakura?”

He hears her exhale through the phone. “Yeah,” she says. “What’s up, Crow?”

A good sign, maybe. “I assume Lavenza told you where I am?”

“Yeah,” Sakura repeats. “Kirijo. I’ve been looking into it. Uh, my mom…I guess you already know that.”

“They’ve mentioned her,” he says, in case that’s another draw. “They’d like to speak with you.”

A hint of fire rises. “I’d like to speak with _them,”_ she says. “Their servers are weirdly hard to get into, I wanna know what they’re hiding. So, uh, you can give them my number. I’ll set something up.”

“I’ll do that,” Goro says, relieved that the conversation seems to be already over.

But before he can say goodbye, Sakura blurts out, “I remember being friends with you.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I, I remember that you were really good friends with Kasumi--with Sumire, and I was friends with Sumire so I wanted to be your friend too, and I was actually kinda jealous that she seemed closer to you than to me? So I wanted to find out what she liked about you so much, and I don’t think I really found it but, but we were friends anyway, I think. My--” Her breath hitches. “My mom talked about you sometimes. She liked you too. I remember telling her the first time I hung out with you and Sumire, and, and she smiled and said she was happy I was friends with you.”

Sakura goes silent for a little while. 

“I remember that too,” Goro says quietly, because he can at least say that much.

Sakura sniffles. “I spent more months being your friend than I did being your enemy,” she says, her voice wobbling. “And I don’t know what to think about that.”

“I don’t either.”

Sakura makes a vague snorting noise through her sniffles. “Wow, you’re really contributing to this conversation, huh,” she says.

Goro swallows. “What do you want me to say?” he says. “It’s a complicated situation and I don’t have any more answers than you do.”

“It’s a shitty situation is what it is,” Sakura says. “But--but I think the worst thing is, is, I think I spent more months being friends with you than I did being friends with Akira.”

And that stops Goro cold.

After a long and mutual silence, he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

Sakura sniffles again. “Don’t be _sorry,”_ she says. “It’s not your fault. You’re probably not happy about it either, huh, being forced to be friends with all of us.”

Goro tries to put together his thoughts on the subject. He’s been trying to avoid it, but perhaps he does need to do it eventually. “It may surprise you to hear this,” he says, “but I don’t actually hate you all.”

Sakura snorts again, louder. “Yeah, right,” she says. “You were _so_ friendly in January.”

“I spent the entirety of January thinking I was going to die soon and the only person I could have considered an actual friend didn’t want to see me,” Goro says, very calmly. “Excuse me for being somewhat standoffish.”

“Huh?” Sakura says, sounding genuinely baffled, and Goro realizes Lavenza possibly did not tell the thieves _everything._

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. He doesn’t feel like explaining all of it again, digging up those wounds when they haven’t really healed yet. “Regardless, my point is that while I am not _friends_ with any of you, and some of you I do not particularly get along with, I don’t feel any great animosity towards you. If I wanted you dead I would’ve told Shido your names.”

Sakura goes silent for a second, then says, “I guess I didn’t really think about that.”

Goro tries not to be annoyed with her for that. She’s supposed to be _smart,_ she should’ve figured out _that_ much. But he supposes she’s not that smart when it comes to interpersonal things, like picking up the subtle social cues on whether someone wants to murder you.

“But um, just now, you said, I think you said _Akira_ is your friend? I think that’s what you meant? I don’t know who else you could’ve been talking about, so…um…”

Goro waits. He suspects he knows where this line of conversation is going.

“Um, Lavenza didn’t really…give a lot of details,” Sakura says, her voice small. “Do you…know how Akira’s doing?”

Ah. He was right.

“I don’t know how he’s doing _now,”_ Goro says, keeping his voice as even and unaffected as possible. “It’s been a few days since I saw him. It’s possible he’s doing better.”

“But when you _did_ see him, how was he?” Sakura presses.

Goro hesitates. “He was not well,” he says. “I expect that will improve.”

He has no idea how long that will take, or if Akira will ever be exactly as he was. But Akira’s condition will improve _eventually,_ he’s sure of it. Possibly even soon.

Sakura breathes out. “Okay,” she says. “I guess I’ll find out in a few days, anyway.”

“As will I,” Goro says, and realizes he probably won’t, actually, unless Lavenza pops in to tell him. “Ah…that is to say, I would appreciate it if someone let me know.”

“Yeah, we’ll tell you,” Sakura says. She sounds better, more in control. Good; she’ll be better off if she can learn to hide that vulnerability. Or quash it entirely, but she doesn’t seem the type to be good at that. 

“Thank you,” Goro says. “Unless you have any further questions, I believe that’s all I need from you.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Sakura says. “I mean, I can ask the Kirijo people, you probably don’t know that much anyway. Uh, sorry.”

“No offense taken,” Goro says, because it’s not as if she’s lying. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He’ll probably learn more, but…somehow he doubts a secret organization is going to spill their secrets to a random teenager any time soon. “Goodbye.”

“Um, and, t-take care,” Sakura stammers. “I don’t…hate you either.”

“…thank you,” Goro says again, uncertain what else to say, and ends the call.

How strange. She has more reason than most of them, and the memories of the last six months may have complicated things, but they didn’t change what he’s done. Perhaps she’s softhearted, or perhaps all the thieves are more grateful to him for helping to rescue Akira than he expected. Not that he expected them to be _un_ grateful, but more in a grudging way, a way where they acknowledge that he was helpful but don’t see it as reason enough to forgive him.

Then again, he spent the last six months being friends with them, too. So many things are complicated now.

He pockets his phone and exhales. He should probably get some lunch.

\---

Goro exists in a sort of limbo here.

Everyone he’s interacted with is polite and friendly, and generally eager to learn about the Metaverse, and very insistent that he doesn’t have any formal duties or even really expectations yet. All they want to do, they say, is ask him questions.

He’s answered most of them, including the ones that don’t paint him in a sympathetic light. They already knew about the mental shutdowns; coming up with a lie would take too much effort, and be too easy to catch. Aigis and Mitsuru have been very understanding, very quick to say his situation wasn’t his fault. He doesn’t know how to describe it in a way that makes his agency clear. How can he convey the exact emotions he felt, the wordless justifications he gave himself every step of the way? If he was a blameless victim, he would’ve felt none of that, would’ve hated every second. A victim could never have awakened Loki, bearer of a power that could only be used to hurt. A victim would’ve fought back.

Aigis says it is not her place to forgive him, but she thinks atonement is possible. Mitsuru says his life has entered a different stage, and she’d like to help him with it, but understands if he doesn’t want that. Their sympathy doesn’t fit right; it feels…fraught. An old, bitter whisper that never really went away: if they say they don’t need you, they don’t want you; and if they do say they need you, what they need you for is something dark and cruel. 

So which is it, then? What will the wheel land on? Disinterest or malice? 

He tells himself that it’s neither. But in the absence of concrete evidence, it could be either. How can he tell?

\---

The Shadow Ops headquarters does have actual quarters.

Guest rooms, really. Most of the auxiliary members don’t live in the same city, so if they’re visiting for more than a day trip it’s useful to have a place for them to sleep. Goro doesn’t know if he counts as an auxiliary member, but the rooms are nice enough. Bed, desk, chair, closet. Even a TV, which gives it a very hotel room vibe.

The TV proves to have a surprisingly extensive array of channels, when he tries it. He catches a news report about Akira--mysteriously missing, a prison break with not a single clue, the case of the year. He wonders how long it will take before the lack of new information makes public interest wane. Not long, probably.

There’s a cafeteria, and the food’s pretty good. His normal diet was mostly instant ramen and conbini food, barring the cafes and fancy restaurants he had to go to for various reasons, but Maruki apparently thought a key part of happiness was a healthy diet, so Goro ate pretty well the last six months. But he never got to _choose_ what he ate, not really. Even if the food did taste good, it was always soured by the knowledge that it was what Maruki thought was right for him. So he’d be happy with the cafeteria even if it wasn’t very good, honestly, because even if the options are limited there are still options. He could eat nothing but French fries and no one would stop him, besides his digestive tract.

He eats by himself. The only people he really knows here so far are Mitsuru, who eats in her office, and Aigis, who doesn’t eat. He wonders if any of the other employees will eventually accost him in an attempt to bring him into the fold. He also wonders if he’d be allowed to bring his food back to his room instead.

There’s a small gym he hasn’t used yet, medical facilities he hasn’t needed, a library he might go to eventually…

And Goro’s too distracted to especially enjoy any of it, because every day and every hour and every minute is a countdown.

One week. That’s what Lavenza said. It’s been six days now, six days of interviews and explanations and subtle mentions that the labs are perfectly respectful places that answer directly to Mitsuru and would never do anything he’s not comfortable with, and fear has set up shop in Goro’s mind. Maybe Lavenza will decide Akira isn’t ready yet. Maybe Sakura will decide Goro doesn’t need to know after all. 

Maybe something utterly unforeseeable will happen, like it usually does. 

\---

The Shadow Ops headquarters is a very tall building, a skyscraper Goro’s probably seen in the background of city photos or movies or whatever. Not a visually interesting one; the Kirijo Group may be in the vicinity of famous, but they don’t want to advertise the other half of their business. Even most of the fancy facilities in the building could be handwaved as the company being generous to their employees. They keep their secrets well.

Sometimes Goro finds himself looking out one of the windows. Too high up to see any details of the streets below, but it’s a great view.

He’s jumped off of two buildings, both shorter than this one. If he went over the roof of this one, it would probably take a few seconds longer than those. Enough time to process the street getting bigger.

Not that he would, of course, because he doesn’t want to do that anymore. But it’s interesting to think about.

\---

And then it’s been seven days.

And that afternoon, Sakura sends him a text.

**Sakura:** akira’s back

And she doesn’t send anything after that.

**Akechi:** How is he?

It takes a while for her to respond.

**Sakura:** not well  
**Sakura:** there’s a doctor here she’s helping  
**Sakura:** i think she’s helping anyway  
**Sakura:** or she’s trying to  
**Sakura:** when you saw him in the velvet room did he say anything?  
**Akechi:** No.  
**Sakura:** okay  
**Sakura:** i’ll let you know if anything changes  
**Akechi:** Thank you.

Her messages stop.

In the absence of any way to deal with it, Goro ends up using the gym after all.

When he’s worked himself to the point of exhaustion, Aigis appears. She looks him up and down and says, as calmly as always, “I think you should stop now.”

Goro looks at her, standing on the treadmill and trying to catch his breath. He wants to disagree, but he doesn’t have the energy, physically or mentally.

“I assume you received word on Kurusu-san’s condition?” Aigis asks.

Goro nods.

“And the word was not good?” Aigis asks.

Goro nods.

“I see,” Aigis says. 

She takes a seat on a nearby bench. After a moment, he follows.

“The information you have been giving us is very helpful, but you are a guest here, not a test subject,” Aigis says. “If you wish to leave us and go back to him, we will not attempt to force you to stay.”

Goro shakes his head. “Even if they’d let me see him, there’s nothing I can do,” he says dully. “It’s not my area. For all I know, my presence would hurt him.”

Aigis cocks her head. “That seems unlikely,” she says. “Though your statements seem clear on your not being friends, your actions in the Palace indicated rather strongly that you care about him. The person you have described does not seem the sort of person to build such a bond lightly.”

“The _bond_ is purely one-sided,” Goro says, sourness climbing in his throat. “He made that clear in January. The last time I saw him there--”

_He hugged you back,_ a small part of his mind whispers. _Not immediately, but he did. He didn’t seem unhappy about that. About other things, but not about that._

“--we did not part on friendly terms,” Goro finishes.

“I see,” Aigis says, again, and then they sit in silence for a while.

Eventually, Aigis says, “There are some things I have been waiting to ask you until you knew of Kurusu-san’s return. I had hoped it would put you in a better mindset. Even though it did not, I must still ask them.”

“Go ahead,” Goro says, making a vague gesture.

Aigis looks him directly in the eye. “You killed Takuto Maruki in cold blood,” she says calmly. “Though he was undoubtedly a severe criminal, the Shadow Operatives are not in the business of execution. Do you regret your action?”

The exhaustion seeps in even further. “No,” Goro says. “He wouldn’t have come quietly. It was the only way.”

“In our talks with Sakura-san, she has discussed the concept of Treasures,” Aigis says. “She believes that Dr. Maruki’s Treasure could have been stolen, which would render him powerless and compliant. Why did you not attempt to do that, instead?”

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sound too frustrated. “Sakura must have mentioned the calling card,” he says. “It wouldn’t work without one and Maruki wasn’t in a position to receive one.”

“Sakura-san has spoken extensively of the mechanics of Treasures, yes, and shared her own theories,” Aigis says. “She proposed the idea of delivering a calling card within the Palace itself, by showing it to a camera or similar. Sakura-san seems to be strongly of the opinion that Dr. Maruki’s Treasure could still have been stolen even in the circumstances that occurred.”

_“Sakura_ wasn’t _there,”_ Goro snaps. “Maruki’s crimes were impossible to prove in a court of law, change of heart or no, and if we let him go the only punishment he would’ve faced was _feeling bad._ You saw those fucking books, you _know_ what he deserved.”

“I did, and I do,” Aigis says mildly.

“And I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, _Shadow Operative,_ but I’m really not the best person,” Goro says, his voice cold. “I wanted Maruki dead and I had the opportunity. I _told_ you about the mental shutdowns, it really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that I see murder as a viable problem solution.”

Aigis cocks her head. “I think you see yourself as a hammer and the world as a nail,” she says. “During the fight, you said that Dr. Maruki was just a man. That is true, but so are you. Perhaps in some ways you are even just a boy. You are not the sole arbiter of justice, and regardless of Dr. Maruki’s crimes, what you did was wrong.”

Ah, here it is. The wheel spins, and finally lands on an option he foolishly hadn’t considered: judgment. Even though he hasn’t developed any especial emotional attachment to this place, the idea still fills his stomach with lead. He wasn’t lying when he said he had nowhere else to go. If even the Shadow Operatives think him a wild animal, what can he do? Escape to the streets, perhaps, swallow what remains of his dignity. Eventually find himself staring down another escape attempt, this time permanent. “Are you going to arrest me, then?” he says flatly, and through his peripheral vision notes the location of the door.

Aigis shakes her head. “My point, Akechi-san, is that you had with you two representatives of a secret extralegal organization funded by one of the richest corporations in Japan, and you did not consider that we could have helped you.”

The grim structures building in his head are knocked off-kilter.

As he stares, Aigis continues. “We are fully aware that the legal system can be difficult to apply to the other world, and though we do not prefer to take matters into our own hands, we are capable of using our influence and funds to convict a criminal on charges equivalent to their otherworldly crimes. We could have imprisoned Dr. Maruki without much effort, and without adding to the blood on your hands. We would have done this gladly. But you did not ask if we could.”

The lead in his stomach squirms uncomfortably. He hadn’t thought of that. Would he have, if he’d been less blinded by anger? 

“However, we realize that your mental state was compromised,” Aigis continues again. “And so here is my next question, Akechi-san. The Kirijo Group employs a therapist who understands the other world. Would you be willing to meet with her?”

The direction of the conversation seems entirely out of Goro’s control, racing along tracks he never considered. “What?” he says, a little helplessly. 

Aigis seems undeterred by his confusion. “Please understand that we are not forcing this upon you,” she says. “If you wish to remain simply a guest and return to normal society, we can help with that. But the Shadow Operatives would very much like to eventually have you join our ranks, and if that sounds appealing to you, we require that you reach a degree of stability before you do so, both for our safety and yours. It is a dangerous job, and we prefer our agents to be fully-equipped to handle it.”

Goro grabs hold of the fraying thoughts in his head, forces them together. “Are you…offering me a job, but only if a shrink says I’m normal?” he says slowly.

“Nobody who works here fits most definitions of ‘normal’,” Aigis says. “In your case, we would prefer to start from a baseline of ‘unlikely to commit homicide.’”

It’s ridiculous. It’s so patently ridiculous that Goro can’t even laugh. “I would’ve thought you remembered I don’t have a high opinion of _therapists,”_ he says, because that’s easier than actually answering the question.

Aigis nods. “We would not require you to start immediately,” she says. “You are welcome to take time to make the idea more palatable. I assure you, she is a highly trusted employee who has worked well with many of our agents.”

“Have _you_ seen her?” Goro finds himself asking.

“On occasion,” Aigis says calmly.

Goro doesn’t know how to respond to any of this.

Aigis waits, though, while he tries to untangle everything in his head, or at least enough of it to continue the conversation.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, finally, because that’s a safe answer. It gives him time. 

Aigis nods again. “Of course,” she says, and stands up from the bench. “Get some rest, Akechi-san. It’s late, and you seem tired.”

_That’s an understatement,_ he thinks dully.

Too tired to think this through, probably. And too--whatever the unpleasant, roiling feeling is whenever he thinks of Akira.

He uses the gym shower, and doesn’t think very much during it, and goes to bed, and doesn’t think during that either.

And in the morning, he thinks.

\---

Goro can imagine many things worse than talking to someone about his problems. He’s experienced some of them. But the thought of it still makes his skin crawl, the idea of spilling everything to some stranger who nods politely and takes notes like everything he’s been through can be reduced to bullet points, being told inanities that change nothing, trying to draw out every drop of sludge only to discover that the sludge is all there is.

If he talks about it, he has to think about it. If he thinks about it, it worms its way into his head even more until the only way to get the slightest bit of relief is to go to Mementos and tear something apart, which he can’t _do_ anymore, even if they’d let him, which they probably wouldn’t.

Besides, Akira loved to help people, always talked about solving their problems and helping them live happier, more fulfilled lives, and Akira barely considered him worth talking to, so doesn’t that say something? There’s probably just something fundamentally wrong with him that makes any attempt at help fall flat. You can’t put the pieces of something back together if it was missing half the pieces to begin with.

Goro picks at a plate of adequate fried eggs and bacon and remembers the fifteenth and final time he killed himself.

Sleeping pills. Most of the others had been quick, short sharp bursts of pain that turned to black in an instant, but he was outside his apartment when the lucidity started, and there was a drugstore across the street. He knocked out the cashier and stole every tiny packet of sleeping pills he could find, and went up to his apartment and took all of them. Then he laid down in his futon and waited.

The drowsiness set in relatively quickly, but he didn’t immediately pass out. He just drifted at the edge of sleep for a little while, warm in his futon, every muscle relaxing until even his mind calmed down and nothing really seemed to matter anymore. When he fell asleep, he didn’t notice it.

He woke up the following morning energetic and looking forward to an outing with Yoshizawa and Sakura, and the empty packets had long since disappeared. It took him over a week to be himself again. That was the day Lavenza came back.

It was so nice, that warm, calm feeling. Even normal sleep never felt that good. 

A therapist would surely tell him not to think about that, but it was the only time in those six months that he felt happy. Every brief moment of happiness he’s experienced in the last three years is couched in something horrible. The satisfaction of bringing down a target. How good it felt to let Loki loose while training for the next one. Every time he talked to Akira, or played a game with him, or fought by his side, or smiled at him and almost felt like a real person when he did it, was done with the intention of learning how to destroy him. 

You can’t _fix_ someone like that. It’s a waste of effort to even try.

There’s a foul taste in his mouth. He ends up throwing away the rest of his breakfast.

\---

The next time he sees Aigis, he says, “I’ve decided I’m not interested in your offer.”

She nods, and doesn’t ask for an explanation. “Very well,” she says. “It still stands, however, should you change your mind.”

So she’ll keep bothering him about it. Unless it was only a formality to begin with, and she made the offer out of a vague sense of politeness, assuming that he wouldn’t take it. It wouldn’t make sense for the Shadow Ops to _not_ show interest in a new Persona user, so she had to go through the motions. 

Goro hasn’t been snapping at people here, but she knows how he behaved in the Palace. She wouldn’t want to hire him. It must be a relief to get that obligation off her shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how many more days he can coast on her pretense of good graces. Either she’ll politely indicate he’s given enough testimony that they don’t need him, or she’ll present him with an actual ultimatum: give in to the labs, or leave.

People survive on the streets. He’ll figure it out.

\---

Goro doesn’t get many phone calls. The only one was Sakura, really. When his phone rings, for half a heartbeat he wonders if it’s her again, if she has news--but then he sees the screen, and it’s just Yoshizawa. Ah. Well, he shouldn’t blame her for that, probably. 

He takes the call. “Hello, Yoshizawa,” he says.

“Hello, senpai!” Yoshizawa says cheerfully, like she usually says things, or at least that’s how she said things in most of his memories of her. He never knew Sumire very well.

“Did you need me for something?” he asks, half hoping that there’s news about Akira and they just decided to have her give it this time.

“Oh, not really,” Yoshizawa says. “I just thought I’d give my best friend a call?” She gives a small, self-effacing laugh, like she knows how ridiculous it is to say that.

He has even less reason to dislike Yoshizawa than the rest of the thieves, so he can manage civility. “You know that wasn’t me,” he says calmly.

“…I know,” Yoshizawa says. “The person I was friends with wasn’t like you at all. I remember that much. But, um, in January, I did _want_ to be friends with you. It felt like…you know what it’s like to be two different people, and, well, the others were always very nice but I don’t think they _get_ that, so…” She trails off. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling,” she says sheepishly.

“It’s fine.” That would explain the times she kept prying into how he was doing, at least. Empathy rankles less than pity. 

“I suppose what I wanted to do is see how you’re doing,” she says, more firmly, like she’s trying to get the conversation back on track. “The last time I spoke to you in January, you seemed very upset.”

Ah. Yes. “I had my reasons to be in a bad mood,” he says, because he doesn’t want to get into it with her any more than he did with Sakura. “But I do feel better now. Thank you for your concern.”

“Um, pardon my rudeness,” she says. “But back then I was under the impression part of why you were unhappy was because you missed senpai, and you’re still separated from him, so it seems to me you might still be unhappy about that?”

She’s more perceptive than he gave her credit for. “I was concerned about his atypical behavior,” he says. “Now that I know the reason for it, and that he is recovering from it, my concerns have abated.”

Yoshizawa exhales. “So, um, no one’s told you, then?”

Her voice is thin, hesitant, and Goro’s stomach ties into knots.

“Told me what?” he asks, very evenly.

“I don’t know if it’s my place to say, I only saw senpai once,” Yoshizawa says. “But he wasn’t doing very well, and whenever someone asks Futaba about it she says nothing’s changed. It’s only been a few days, though, so I’m sure he just needs a little time.”

“How was he when you saw him?” Goro says, and he makes sure his voice is calm, normal, under control.

“He was…quiet,” Yoshizawa says. “He didn’t really say anything. We were all there, but I don’t know if he, um, noticed? We tried talking to him but eventually Boss said we probably weren’t helping and Futaba would keep us updated. I know they were taking him to see a doctor, but I don’t know the details. That’s all.”

No change at all, then, from how he was in the Velvet Room.

Three days since he came back to the Sakuras, ten days since he was rescued. And no change.

“I see,” Goro says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoshizawa says quietly. “I know if he was feeling better, he’d want to see you.”

A bark of a laugh escapes from his throat. “I doubt that,” he says. “Akira’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with me.”

Yoshizawa’s voice turns puzzled. “Um, it always seemed to me like you were friends,” she says. “I know things were complicated between you two, but…”

Yoshizawa doesn’t have the context, and he doesn’t feel like sharing it. “Thank you for the call,” he says. “Goodbye, Yoshizawa.”

He has enough self-restraint to wait for her confused goodbye before he hangs up.

Then he looks out the nearest window for a while.

It feels like his entire body is full of sludge, sitting thickly in his veins, coating his organs, submerging his brain. If he waits long enough, it might start to dribble out of his mouth. What good is he, sitting in an office building, answering questions and stewing in indecision? All he’s ever been good at is tearing things apart, and he can’t do that anymore. 

He thinks, dully, about how there’s a kind of poetry to it. He turned dozens of people into mindless shells, and now the only person who matters to him may as well have joined their ranks.

Perhaps he wouldn’t even mind his life taking a turn for the ironic, for hammering in all of his sins. He almost expected it, really.

But his sins are _his,_ his every mistake and flaw and catastrophic judgment is on _him,_ not--

The view from the window is beautiful. 

Thinking about that is easier than thinking about this, more familiar, a comfortable old blanket. A reminder of when he only had one thing to do, and no hesitation or tangle in his head to get in the way. 

He still doesn’t _want_ to, but…

But it’s such a beautiful, calming view.

\---

The next day, while Goro’s lying in bed and wondering if he should eat breakfast, he gets another call.

The number is unfamiliar. He picks up anyway.

“Is this Akechi?” says a gruff, older voice, one Goro recognizes as Sojiro Sakura.

“Speaking,” Goro says.

Sojiro exhales. “Okay,” he says. “Futaba’s not really up for a phone call right now, and I don’t want to do this over text. You still at the Kirijo place?”

“Yes.” For now.

“Futaba says she’s been talking to the folks there and they’ve got a whole host of eggheads bustling around,” Sojiro says. “Physics, engineering, damn _philosophy_ or whatever. Point is, they’ve got medical people, too. And a hell of a lot more resources than the local clinic.”

Goro has an inkling of where this is going. He doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“Thing is,” Sojiro says, his voice heavy, “Akira’s not doing so hot.”

Sojiro sounds very, very tired.

“We’ve been doing what we can,” he says. “But the doc here says she thinks he needs a real hospital, people around who know how to deal with this stuff, and far as the world’s concerned, this guy’s an escaped prisoner. He can’t go to one of those.”

Goro doesn’t want to talk about this more than he has to. “I’ll ask if they can take him in,” he says, and he doesn’t even need to control his voice, it’s quiet and blank on its own.

Palpable relief fills Sojiro’s voice. “Thanks,” he says. “And, uh, thanks for…getting him out of there. I’ve been hearing some wild stories the last week and a half, and I don’t know what to think about half of them, but it sounds like he would’ve been a lot worse off if it wasn’t for you. I’m still not your biggest fan, mind, but…well, thanks.”

Goro doesn’t know if _you’re welcome_ is the appropriate answer, or if it’s even something he wants to say. He settles on a brief silence, following it with, “I’ll let you know what they say.” And then he hangs up.

There’s a reason to get out of bed, he supposes. He should talk to Mitsuru.

But his room is warm and quiet, and even if he still has his thoughts to deal with he doesn’t have to add on the complication of seeing any Kirijo employees who might ask him questions or pretend they want him to be there. And he doesn’t have to talk to her _now._ She might be busy, anyway. 

If it’s been ten days and Akira’s condition hasn’t improved, Goro doesn’t know what having even more doctors around would do. Sojiro Sakura seems like a decent enough person, but no one _wants_ to take care of a sick person who won’t get better; foisting Akira off on strangers is the easier option for him. All it accomplishes for Akira is taking him away from the people he cares about. What reason would he have to come back, if he’s surrounded by people he doesn’t know?

Goro closes his eyes. An hour, maybe, and then he’ll talk to Mitsuru. 

For a handful of minutes, the warm and quiet of the room flow over him. If he could manage to sleep, even better; then he wouldn’t have to think at all.

As he drifts, memories float in his mind, vague shapes taking on greater detail. The futon in his childhood apartment, small and thin but warm, next to his mother’s. She used to let him sleep with her, sometimes, if he had a nightmare or it was cold or she seemed upset and the only thing he knew how to do was to stay with her. Her hand carding through his hair, her voice saying something soft and nice.

Towards the end she stopped letting him sleep with her, though, said he was getting too old for it. She said adults needed more sleep than kids, he shouldn’t bother her when she was in bed. She was usually in bed when he came home from school, and sometimes she got out of bed to make dinner, but sometimes she didn’t.

His mother spent so much time asleep, in those last months.

Goro opens his eyes. Getting out of bed feels like a better idea after all.

When he finished using the restroom, he looks in the mirror. He’s clean, at least, and he doesn’t look sick. The guest rooms don’t come with concealer, though, and even if the bags under his eyes could be worse, they’re still visible. He looks…ordinary, like any person whose morning routine consists of a shower and only pays attention to their face if there’s something on it.

It’s easier to not have to spend so much time keeping himself camera-ready every day. But it also makes him feel like he’s looking at a different person.

A happier person? A person who isn’t going to die soon?

Aigis said he was just a person.

On his worst days he wasn’t sure he was a person at all.

He washes his face and leaves the room.

Mitsuru is in her office, reading through some paperwork.

_She’s_ wearing makeup, he notices; if it’s for professional reasons or because she likes to, he doesn’t know. But it seems high quality, nicer than even what he got off Shido’s dime, certainly much nicer than what his mother used when she went to job interviews or sent him to the bathhouse when a ‘friend’ was about to visit.

She looks up at him the moment he enters. “Hello, Akechi-kun,” she says warmly. “What can I help you with?”

He tells her.

As he tells her, her expression turns grave. When he finishes, she says, “Of course we’d be willing to take him in. Our medical facilities are top-of-the-line, and our doctors are familiar with the complications that can come from otherworldly illnesses.”

Goro isn’t sure Akira’s condition is all that otherworldly. But he’ll let the doctors figure that out.

“I’ll schedule a pickup for him immediately, provided his caretaker is ready,” Mitsuru says. “Would you like to come with?”

Goro shakes his head. His presence won’t help anything, and he doubts he’d enjoy the experience.

“Very well. Thank you for trusting us.” She gives a tiny smile. “In truth, I’d been hoping I’d be able to see him soon. It’s unfortunate that it has to happen under these circumstances. Wildcards are so rare, and finding two at once…in my line of work, I can’t afford to be dismissive of the concept of fate. You and Akira Kurusu crossing my path is no coincidence, I’m sure.”

Always _Wildcards._ Akira seems to have much the same powers as Aigis and Seta, but Goro’s not sure it’s an exact match, precisely. Certainly his own powers are different from any of them. _Is_ he one of them? He’s never convinced a Shadow to join him, but then, he’s never tried.

Regardless, he thinks he prefers ‘Tricksters’. It seems to fit Akira better, somehow. Still unpredictable, but with a wink and a bow. A word for a thief, or maybe an actor.

Mitsuru’s probably saying something else. If she’s realized he’s not paying attention, she’s gracious enough not to bring it up.

\---

Akira arrives at the headquarters that evening.

Goro doesn’t greet him at the front door. He stays in his room, trying not to think, until he hears a knock at the door. It opens, revealing Aigis, who says, “Kurusu-san is in the medical wing now. You may see him if you wish.”

“I’m fine,” Goro says. His stomach twists, though, at the knowledge that Akira is here. He _could_ see Akira, if he wanted. 

Akira’s here because he’s broken. Goro doesn’t want to see that.

Aigis studies him for a few seconds. Then she says, “I do not believe you are.”

Irritation rises, drowns out the quiet fears. “You barely _know_ me,” Goro snaps. “And if I didn’t want to be psychoanalyzed by a therapist, I hardly want it from a robot.”

“I know what grief is,” Aigis says calmly. “I know what it is to feel lost, and useless, and unable to save the person who matters most. Our situations differ greatly, but there are enough commonalities that I think I can offer some advice.”

Ah, so now empathy _and_ pity. What a sight he must be to the serene, enlightened champion, a small and twisted thing in need of a noble savior, a wounded animal more likely to hurt itself than anything else. It fills his stomach with bile, brings traces of Hveðrungr’s fury to the corners of his mind.

“Go peddle your sanctimonious _advice_ to someone who gives a shit,” Goro snaps. “Leave me alone.”

“Very well,” Aigis says, and god, how is she always so _calm,_ it’s fucking _infuriating._ It must be so easy to be an emotionless robot, sailing through life never knowing any of the swamps and lava pools Goro drowns in every day.

Aigis nods, says goodbye, leaves. And Goro’s left alone in his room.

He presses the bases of his palms to his eyes and breathes. If they’re going to throw him out any day now, maybe he should just leave. All he has to his name is the outfit he came here in and the clothes they so charitably gave to him; he could sell the latter somewhere, get enough cash to stay fed for a little while. Then he could…he’d figure it out. He’s supposed to be smart, he’d figure it out.

Goro’s only ever needed himself, anyway. He made it this far on his own merits, clawed his way out of childhood and early adolescence without anyone to give aid, and he won’t turn soft and weak just because he ended up somewhere that claims it doesn’t need anything from him. Better to cut his losses before he gets used to creature comforts and words he knows better than to believe.

Any minute now, he’ll leave. If he doesn’t then any day now they’ll start asking him to do things, and even if the things start out okay they’ll get so much worse, and after a while they won’t even _let him_ leave. He needs to get out of here now, before any of that starts.

He stands in the warm room, shoulders shaking, thinking about all the things that are going to happen if he doesn’t leave, until his mind quietly turns off and everything just sort of goes away for a while, and when he wakes up he’s sitting on the floor and he’s so exhausted he gets into bed without thinking about anything.

He dreams about white walls and dead eyes and every sin he has ever committed weighing him down until the weight is all he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this amazing fanart by [BottomClown](https://twitter.com/BottomClown/status/1331306662481829890)! 
> 
> You can find me at [Tumblr](http://www.futuresoon.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/futuresoonest).


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